07/08/2020, 20:47
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Draco reflects on what has changed in his life.
Words: 731
“When they are dark and mean-looking that means it’s going to rain.”
“But how do the clouds decide that they are going to rain?”
As usually was the case when his son asked him a completely reasonable question, Draco had no answer. Just yesterday, his son had walked up to him at seven in the morning to ask him how long time lasted. Merlin, sometimes he wondered if all children looked at the world in the way Scorpius did – with everlasting wonder, always wanting to know more. Sometimes he wondered if he had been a child like that, and what his own father had answered to his questions. He couldn’t remember, as he could remember hardly anything about his own childhood. His life before Hogwarts – before the War – felt like a blur. “I don’t know, Scorp,” he said, and he squeezed his son’s hand. “Your mother probably knows.”
“Mum knows everything,” Scorpius said wisely, and Draco was happy that his son seemed satisfied by the admission of his own defects.
“She does.”
Scorpius was quiet for a while, simply holding his father’s hand and staring at the sky as the clouds raced by. Draco looked at his son, who was lying next to him in the grass, and wondered what he had done to deserve such a child, and at the same time realising how fast he was growing. He had turned four a couple of months ago, and soon enough he would start attending school. While he himself wasn’t sure what he thought of the idea, Astoria thought it would be a good idea to have Scorpius attend a muggle primary school. While there were some options for wizards, they were few and far between, and neither of them wanted Scorpius to leave home while he was still so young. Besides, Draco was sure that muggles had some way of explaining whatever the sky was doing when it rained. They always had explanations for everything, and Scorpius would enjoy that.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“When a cloud moves, does that mean someone very big is blowing at the sky?”
Draco chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. It’s the wind. Can you feel the wind?”
Scorpius stuck his hand into the air and nodded. “Yes, I can feel it.” He seemed mesmerised for a while, as he pointed at how fast the clouds were going now. “Where does wind come from?”
“I don’t know,” Draco said, pondering. “I think it had something to do with mountains, but as I’ve said –”
“I’ll ask mum,” Scorpius said. “Or grandfather. Do you think grandfather knows where wind comes from?”
Draco paused. He didn’t know, and stared up to the skies as if the fluffy clouds that got his son all wound up would hold the answer. Even if he had ever asked, he wasn’t certain if he and his father had ever talked like this. His father certainly wouldn’t have laid down on dirty soil to stare up at the blue sky. Not even his mother would have done that. “What makes you think grandfather would know about clouds and about wind?”
“He has a lot of books,” Scorpius said, “which means he must be pretty smart. Even though grandmother says he’s an idiot.”
“Don’t tell your grandfather she said that,” Draco said, and he smirked at the thought of his mother saying that. The war had changed all of them, but it felt as if his mother was an unshakeable constant. Even when he had been at his lowest, when they were unsure if they were going to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban, she had still been full of wit and wisdom. He used to think that his father didn’t deserve her, but he had long ceased to think like that. He hadn’t been a saint himself. If everyone got what they deserved in life, he sure as hell would be living a tragedy, and instead he had a kind and beautiful wife and the smartest son in the world.
“He knows,” Scorpius said. “I’ll ask grandfather about the wind tomorrow anyway. He might have a book about it.”
“He’ll like that,” Draco said. And he just might. After all, not only the clouds changed.
Summary: Draco reflects on what has changed in his life.
Words: 731
Clouds
“Why do you the clouds always change, daddy?” A small finger pointed at the sky. “Sometimes they are very white, but other times, they are very dark and mean-looking?”“When they are dark and mean-looking that means it’s going to rain.”
“But how do the clouds decide that they are going to rain?”
As usually was the case when his son asked him a completely reasonable question, Draco had no answer. Just yesterday, his son had walked up to him at seven in the morning to ask him how long time lasted. Merlin, sometimes he wondered if all children looked at the world in the way Scorpius did – with everlasting wonder, always wanting to know more. Sometimes he wondered if he had been a child like that, and what his own father had answered to his questions. He couldn’t remember, as he could remember hardly anything about his own childhood. His life before Hogwarts – before the War – felt like a blur. “I don’t know, Scorp,” he said, and he squeezed his son’s hand. “Your mother probably knows.”
“Mum knows everything,” Scorpius said wisely, and Draco was happy that his son seemed satisfied by the admission of his own defects.
“She does.”
Scorpius was quiet for a while, simply holding his father’s hand and staring at the sky as the clouds raced by. Draco looked at his son, who was lying next to him in the grass, and wondered what he had done to deserve such a child, and at the same time realising how fast he was growing. He had turned four a couple of months ago, and soon enough he would start attending school. While he himself wasn’t sure what he thought of the idea, Astoria thought it would be a good idea to have Scorpius attend a muggle primary school. While there were some options for wizards, they were few and far between, and neither of them wanted Scorpius to leave home while he was still so young. Besides, Draco was sure that muggles had some way of explaining whatever the sky was doing when it rained. They always had explanations for everything, and Scorpius would enjoy that.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“When a cloud moves, does that mean someone very big is blowing at the sky?”
Draco chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. It’s the wind. Can you feel the wind?”
Scorpius stuck his hand into the air and nodded. “Yes, I can feel it.” He seemed mesmerised for a while, as he pointed at how fast the clouds were going now. “Where does wind come from?”
“I don’t know,” Draco said, pondering. “I think it had something to do with mountains, but as I’ve said –”
“I’ll ask mum,” Scorpius said. “Or grandfather. Do you think grandfather knows where wind comes from?”
Draco paused. He didn’t know, and stared up to the skies as if the fluffy clouds that got his son all wound up would hold the answer. Even if he had ever asked, he wasn’t certain if he and his father had ever talked like this. His father certainly wouldn’t have laid down on dirty soil to stare up at the blue sky. Not even his mother would have done that. “What makes you think grandfather would know about clouds and about wind?”
“He has a lot of books,” Scorpius said, “which means he must be pretty smart. Even though grandmother says he’s an idiot.”
“Don’t tell your grandfather she said that,” Draco said, and he smirked at the thought of his mother saying that. The war had changed all of them, but it felt as if his mother was an unshakeable constant. Even when he had been at his lowest, when they were unsure if they were going to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban, she had still been full of wit and wisdom. He used to think that his father didn’t deserve her, but he had long ceased to think like that. He hadn’t been a saint himself. If everyone got what they deserved in life, he sure as hell would be living a tragedy, and instead he had a kind and beautiful wife and the smartest son in the world.
“He knows,” Scorpius said. “I’ll ask grandfather about the wind tomorrow anyway. He might have a book about it.”
“He’ll like that,” Draco said. And he just might. After all, not only the clouds changed.
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